


Book One: The Path of Dreams

by luckilyluculent



Series: Warriors: Forged Destinies [1]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 05:31:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17861243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckilyluculent/pseuds/luckilyluculent
Summary: While twolegs drove out the four Clans that lived in the forest most city cats were fine with the change. What little lands were left behind weren't exactly habitable, but there weren't dangerous warriors walking through the trees either. It wasn't as if those lands were open to them when the warriors were around after all! But seasons after the winding thunderpaths have been finished, cats began waking with dreams. Dreams of starry cats pleading and prodding them to change their destinies. Dreams that lead some to a very unwilling guide looking for answers that nobody wants to hear.Surely StarClan is done with these lands? Those left behind by the Clans are not warriors in blood after all; but while the destiny of others was clearly not the home they had made there, perhaps a new destiny will begin to unfold for the rogues and loners left in the area. But will it be a destiny of honor? Or will their dreams merely lead the curious to their deaths?





	1. i'm looking to isolate me

A single gray tabby cat crept along the unnatural pathways cut by twolegs through the ground. It was hard to imagine the forest that his mother had told him of in stories being here, but Bristle had seen the way twolegs could bury and destroy the world around them. It wasn't too terribly farfetched, the idea that trees had once towered where swarms of monsters now roared by. Bristle paused as he was lit up by the glaring eyes of one as it hurdled past, but he merely watched it tear by with a bemused expression. His tabby pelt did not ruffle with anything but the wind of it.

Cutting a swift glance over the thunderpath, he trotted across at a decent clip until reaching the grass on the otherside. There he swerved to where the land dipped and let himself be carried into a culvert. One of the deep underground networks that was cut out beneath the thunderpaths. The scent of filth immediately stung his nose, and Bristle tried not to curl his lip in open disgust.

“I was told to come here,” Bristle called out, his voice seemed swallowed by the darkness. He squinted, and thought he could see the outline of pointed ears in the faint shadows, and he crept forward. “Hello?”

“You're noisy,” growled a voice from inside the tunnel. Bristle had to remind himself that it was the echo of the walls around them that made it sound so loud. He felt the fur along his spine prickle as it bellowed, “Get out! I don't want visitors.”

 _Just an old bat,_ Bristle thought to himself. His thick gray tail had bushed up to twice its normal size though, and he had it tucked against his side as he tried to work up the nerve to speak again. Bristle could hear the voice's breathing growing raspy and loud in front of him. The sound seemed to surround Bristle, and he had to quell his fear.

“They say that you can see things other cats can't,” Bristle meowed. His voice did not seem nearly as impressive, and to him reminded him of when he had been a kit. He cleared his throat and scraped his claws against the unnatural stone under his paws. “They say that you have a connection that is only told about in stories. Stories of--”

Bristle cut off abruptly as a hot wave of fetid, stinking air flattened the whiskers against his muzzle. He stumbled backward with a yowl of surprise as claws hooked themselves into his pelt. He was wrenched violently to the side and wheezed as the breath was smashed out of his lungs. Something crouched onto him, shoving his muzzle into the ground and breathing that horrid, raspy breath into his ear.

“Stories of the _Clans_?” Cooed the voice. It _was_ a cat, Bristle realized. A wiry, lean-muscled cat that managed to keep Bristle pinned to the dirt despite its scrawny frame. Bristle choked on his terror and tucked his bristling tail close to his body as he felt the strange cat press its nose into his ear. The breath hissing there made Bristle want to shake his head, made the fur along the back of his neck twitch and he whimpered before he could catch it.

“Yes!” Bristle finally gasped, unable to bear the closeness of this stinking stray any longer. “I was just curious! Please, I... there were these drea--YOW! No no! I'm sorry! I'll leave you alone now.”

“I do have stories,” the cat on his back hissed. He tried not to shriek as claws sank deep into his pelt and twisted in the terrible cat's grasp. “But what do you have?”

“I...” Bristle scrambled to think of something, and then he felt claws sinking deep into his ear. He howled with pain, and managed to wrestle himself away from the cat pinning him to the stone. Shaking his head and sending scarlet drops scattering at the old cat's paws, Bristle charged away.

He didn't care about strange dreams he'd been having or tales of excitement. He didn't care a lick about his earlier curiosity. He didn't care about anything, except getting away from the terrible cat he'd left in the culvert.

He should have, perhaps, cared a little more about the thunderpath though and _certainly_ about the monster that came screeching toward him. But of course, these things were all so much clearer in hindsight. Or they would have been clearer, perhaps, if Bristle the cat had not swiftly darted straight into his own death.

The old, stinking cat that lived under the thunderpath watched as her tabby visitor was crushed under the terrible paws of the monster. She hadn't, admittedly, intended to send him off right to his death. The small strike of guilt that pricked at her like an obnoxious thorn was immediately brushed aside. She'd frightened him, certainly but any cat with sense knew to be mindful of monsters even when spooked.

“You see?” she snapped irritably at the darkness around her, ears flattened against her head. “Stop sending these Dreamers to me! Now it's getting them killed! You have your Clans, where they lie next to their lake now. Leave me in peace, I'm not guiding their paws to you.”

It would seem, to many, that she was talking to herself. But a cat with a discerning eye might have picked out a faint starry outline in the darkness, and what seemed to be the cool blue eyes of a white cat.

* * *

# 

**ALLEGIANCES**

##  **STRAYS**

  
**Bristle** \- a dark gray tabby tom with gold eyes  
**Finch** \- a pale brown tom with darker brown tabby ticking and yellow eyes  
**Robin** \- a brown and white tabby she-cat with green eyes  
**???** -

##  **KITTYPETS**

  
**Jack** \- a beautiful, long-haired cream-and-white tom with seal colored ears, mask and tail and bright blue eyes.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> allegiances will be updated as characters are introduced in the story


	2. not about to complain

“Hey, Finch, wake up already!” A loud meow shattered the remnants of Finch’s dream. He couldn’t remember it as he rose from his slumber groggily. Something about some cat talking to him? Asking him to go somewhere? It felt important, for some reason, but before he could catch the tail end of it he had a nose thrust sharply into his own.

“Fffth! Robin!” Finch hissed, swatting at his sister’s face to get her to give him space. She hardly reacted, twitching one of her dark brown ears and narrowing her eyes at him.

He’d been sleeping in his own den for more than a quarter moon—at eight moons old that was well old enough to be without his mother and on his own. But his sister, Robin, had been an obnoxiously frequent visitor in his area. Finch bared his teeth at her, getting ready to hiss again. If Robin thought he wouldn’t claw her whiskers off for interrupting his sleep then she had another thing coming!

“Stop, this is serious,” Robin meowed, eyes wide with worry. His sister’s brown tabby pelt was bushed up and she peered into the cardboard box that Finch had made his home as if looking for some other cat. Of course, there was none. Just Finch, with some of his pale tabby pelt sticking up on one side and his jaws splitting in a wide yawn. “Have you seen Bristle?”

Ugh. Of course.

Robin had been mooning after one of the stray cats in Finch’s area for the last couple of moons. A hopeless case, really, because Finch was reasonably certain that Bristle was interested in the molly that lived two alleys down. What was her name again? Super? Sugar? Something like that. Either way, he wasn’t interested in Robin, who still seemed young and naive to cats like Bristle.

“Uh,” Finch yawned. “I think I saw him at sunhigh three or four days ago. He broke up a scrap at the end of the alley that two cats were having over some chicken.”

As annoying as he found Robin’s mooning over Bristle, Finch couldn’t deny that he was a decent cat. Bristle was good at getting others together and helping them get along. That kind of do-gooder brave cat that old cats told tales about when the strays were keen to sit together and listen to it. Finch liked Bristle’s company enough, he just felt too noble to really be any fun was all. He was always breaking up tussles and talking about surviving better together.

“And that’s the last you’ve seen him?” Robin wailed despairingly.

“Er.” Finch felt as though he had, perhaps, missed something rather important. His sister was working her paws on the stone, her green eyes wide with dismay. Come to think of it, any other cat being gone for a long while wasn’t much to sniff at. Bristle, however, made a point of sticking around and letting cats know when he was heading out. Others looked up to him, after all.

“He hasn’t shown up to help me—several—cats out! He never does that Finch,” Robin cried out.

“O-okay, okay,” Finch said with a wince as he flattened his ears against his skull. “Tell you what, I’ll swing by Jack’s neighborhood and see if I can find him.”

“You will!? Oh—wait. Jack?” Robin’s lip curled in disgust.

“Hey! Jack’s got… connections,” Finch replied defensively. “Seriously, besides, Bristle _liked_ Jack remember? He might have talked to him last.”

Finch could see Robin thinking hard on what he had proposed. Part of him was growing irritated with the molly for her dismissal of his close friend. He knew that if Jack hadn’t been a kittypet she wouldn’t think so low of him. Jack was different than most of the soft cats that lived with twolegs though. Or well, kinda different. He had his softness, but he was a good guy! Smart too, and Finch didn’t know a cat who could sniff anything out as well as Jack could.

You know, when coaxed away from his den.

“If you think he can help,” Robin finally said.

Finch bounded up before she finished speaking, brushing past her into the alley beyond. The city was alive around them—the hum of monsters droning in the distance and the sound of a dog’s barking off farther away. Finch flicked his tail in a gesture of farewell to his kin as he began his familiar trek along stone pathways to his friend’s home.

Finch had met Jack several moons ago, just before he had parted ways with his mother, and had been utterly fascinated by the kittypet. Jack always had a good story or idea for the day and a willing ear that Finch could talk off when need be. It was strange to think he’d found his best friend only a few short moons ago, but he really felt that he had.

The sun was warm on Finch’s brown tabby pelt as he carefully skirted rows of green gardens on the hunt for his friend. Not that it was a real hunt. Jack wasn’t exactly known for being unnoticeable at the best of times and Finch was reasonably certain that the _real_ reason Jack let housefolk stroke him was because he had all the grace of a dog that had been chasing its tail for an hour. But Finch wasn’t going to tell _him_ that to his face.

Well. Unless he was in a good mood.

Bunching his muscles, Finch jumped to the top of Jack’s fence and scanned the garden for him. He spotted his friend’s fluffy cream-and-white pelt almost immediately on the roof of his housefolk’s home. A favorite spot of Jack’s, because the shadows in the garden couldn’t interrupt his sunbathing.

“Hey!” Finch yowled, bounding confidently along the top of his friend’s border until he could spring up to the tree branch that would carry him to Jack’s side. Jack’s round head popped up as Finch appeared at his side, stunning blue eyes lighting up at the sight of his friend. Jack had a mask of dark fur around those blue eyes, which only made them seem all the brighter to Finch.

“Was wonderin’ who could be causing all that racket,” Jack meowed, rolling to his feet and flicking an overly fluffy tail into Finch’s face. Finch wrinkled his nose, fighting the urge to sneeze as he backed out of tail-whacking range. “ ‘Course it’s you! Heya Finch, how’s your day?”

“ _Annoying_ is how it is,” Finch complained loudly, padding over and plopping next to his friend. Jack nodded his head in sympathy as he began to wash Finch’s shoulders. The warm comfort of his friend drove Finch’s earlier irritation away and he began to purr despite himself.

“What was so annoyin’?” Jack asked as he paused before he began washing Finch’s ears. Finch’s purr grew in his throat and he squinted his eyes in joy.

“Mmm?” Finch asked, hadn’t he been here to do something? Oh! Ffff, right! Embarrassed Finch sat up and cleared his throat. “Sorry, uh—that’s right! I came to ask if you’d seen Bristle lately? Guess he hasn’t been around for a bit and some of the cats back in my area are worried about him.”

Jack’s whiskers twitched and concern sparked in his blue eyes. Finch winced, maybe he ought to have been more worried about Bristle after all. Especially if Jack hadn’t seen him. Bristle came by almost daily to talk with him.

“I thought he might be angry with me,” Jack confessed softly. Finch flicked his ears up in surprise as Jack gave him a guilty look. “He told me about… well, these weird dreams that were telling him to go somewhere. I told him he had bees in his brain but he… well, I should have realized that he was feelin’ sensitive about it. We fought, so I thought that was why he wasn’t around. But if he isn’t anywhere else...”

“Oh…” Finch blinked at his friend. Jack looked worried and guilty now, casting nervous looks toward the garden. “Hey, I’m sure he’s okay. Bristle’s no mouse-brain after all! He’s probably just caught up helping a cat find their tail or something.”

Jack shot Finch a glance but the nod he gave him looked distracted. Finch turned his gaze out to the garden before him and he leaned into Jack. He didn’t think he served as near a good source of comfort as Jack could be for him. Jack’s pelt was thick and fluffy—Finch’s was short and his frame was thin. He was dwarfed by Jack, even though Jack couldn’t have been a moon or two older than Finch.

“You know what? I’ll go look for him!” Finch meowed, ears perking up as he padded toward the branch. Jack stared after him in alarm and Finch flashed his friend a look that he hoped was reassuring. “Two heads are better than one when solving problems anyway, isn’t that always what he’s saying?”

“What if he ran into trouble and got hurt?” Jack called, concern in his blue eyes.

“I gotta go track him down for Robin anyway,” Finch answered, jumping to the branch and clawing his way down the tree. The grass felt cool under his paws after he’d been sitting on the warm rooftop with his friend, and Finch cast a look up at Jack’s face peering at him from above. Those blue eyes were wide with concern. “Don’t worry! I’ll bring him back and everything will be fine.”

Finch marched determinedly to the fence and jumped up onto it and then down to the other side. He stuck his tail up straight in the air. Yeah! He’d bring Bristle back, get in the good graces of Mr. Popularity, have Robin off his back _and_ impress his best pal. This couldn’t have turned out better really!

The boards of the fence rattled behind Finch, sending his heart racing and he sprang away with a hiss. His tail puffed up and his back arched he whirled around, only to find Jack landing with a clumsy thump in the grass next to him. Jack’s eyes were warm with amusement and he flicked Finch in the face with his tail.

This time, Finch sneezed.

“Two heads are better than one right?” Jack meowed, eyes warm. “Let’s go pick out his scent and then track him down.”

Finch’s heart suddenly felt warm and full in his chest. He had to smother the urge to purr. Jack, on an adventure with just him? Okay. Fair. _Now_ things couldn’t possibly have turned out for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh finch you.... sweet gay boy.......


End file.
